


Snow

by anthracoceros



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Singing, Winter, it doesnt have to be shippy but it can be if you want, like TOOTH ROTTING fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 01:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17819159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthracoceros/pseuds/anthracoceros
Summary: “What kinds of songs have you heard?” Moomin crawled closer to the vagabond, absorbed in the prospect of him sharing a new melody.“Spoken ones?” Moomin nodded, and he continued. “Quite a bit. Lots of songs about the wintertime. Some about snow, and about travelling. A few about the ocean. One or two about the different animals I’ve seen.”“Can you sing one for me?”





	Snow

**Author's Note:**

> i don't write a lot. this is bad  
> my tumblr is codeine-3 and the song is snow by sleeping at last! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJYSGZeTpBg

The air was cold, but not too cold, somewhat like a friend that walks the fine line between being overbearing and simply curious.

To Moomin, this was a dreadful reminder that his time with Snufkin this year was coming to an end. Of course, he knew this wasn’t the last time they’d be together; all that would happen is the yearly hibernation, with perhaps a few days awake scattered about the schedule, and a springtime reunion between the residents of Moominvalley, choreographed to the music of Snufkin’s harmonica. But, the thought of those few days awake in the pale white of winter without the company of the vagabond stung him more than the brisk chills of the wind.

This happened every year. It was irrational. Moomin hated it, and he could tell Snufkin did too.

Snufkin hated it for other reasons. His trip south was routine to him, habitual even, like flight for a bird. But he was always reminded of the closeness he shared with the troll. Even if he was, at his core, a vagabond, he always felt something missing when he traveled in the winter. A vagabond should not feel something missing. The whole point of the travelling lifestyle was to commit himself to as little earthly possessions as possible. He just needed his harmonica, his fishing rod, and a place to sleep.

So, the small part of him that had planted its roots in Moominvalley was unwelcome. The small part of him that had become committed to the troll and the rest of his friends was a rotten, disdainful seed.

A crescent moon hung itself low in the night sky, watching over the two friends and their small fire. Snufkin sat slouched a few feet away, holding his hands before himself, gaze fixed on them as he soaked up the heat of the flames. Moomin lay on the cool dirt next to him, curled like a sleeping cat with his legs pulled underneath him and his head resting on his forearms. His back brushed against Snufkin’s legs as he breathed.

After a while, Snufkin pulled his legs a little closer to him, jostling the troll beside him, who rose to his knees with a grunt of protest.

Snufkin hummed, turning his eyes to Moomin for a second before returning them to the fire. “Are you ready to go home?”

“You’re going away soon, aren’t you?”

“What?”

Moomin turned to face Snufkin. “It’s going to start snowing soon. Tonight, even. So, you’ll have to leave soon.”

“Well, yes.” Snufkin’s eyes softened at his friend’s perturbation. “Just like every year, I’ll leave for winter and come back when spring returns. And,” he sighed, “just like every year, we’ll both be unreasonably upset about it.”

“Both of us?” Moomin cocked his head. “You never seem upset about it.”

Snufkin gazed at the fire with a lazy, insouciant smile. “Yes, both of us. I think about you every day while I’m away. Why do you think I have so many stories to tell you? I remember them just for you.”

“Is that true, Snufkin?”

“Of course. I don’t need to remember all those things, but I do. I try to hold on to as few things as I can, but I know how important it is to you that I come back every spring with something worth recounting. It makes the trip easier for both of us.”

“But it shouldn’t be hard for me!” Moomin blurted out, shaking his head in frustration. Snufkin was taken aback by both his volume and the deliberateness of his action. “You’re coming back, aren’t you? I’ll be asleep for most of the winter, won’t I? I know I shouldn’t be worried or sad, but I always am!” When he was through, Moomin looked back to his friend, eyes clouded in both embarrassment and remorse. Neither of them spoke for the next moment or so, but there was an assessment that took place in the empty space between them. Snufkin was normally the one to point these facts out, but he never did it to make the troll shameful. He always did it to assuage his worry. By saying it himself, Moomin made it clear that he saw himself as unreasonable and callow. There was an unspoken apology that constituted the intent of his outburst. The drifter’s expression of surprise changed to one of sympathy when he realized this.

“It’s okay to feel worried, Moomin,” Snufkin consoled, “and you shouldn’t beat yourself up like that. I feel that way, too. We don’t know what will happen to each other during the wintertime. Remember when the witch put a sleeping spell upon you and your family? Or when I was a bit late that year you were sick?”

Moomin nodded diffidently. “Well, yes, but nothing was really wrong in the end.”

“Nothing was wrong, but we sure were worried about each other. We didn’t think anything would happen while we were apart.”

For the next few minutes, the only sounds coming from their congregation was that of their breathing and the crackling fire. They now sat side by side. Moomin still felt puerile for his outburst, brow furrowed in light dissatisfaction. He envied his friend who sat tranquil beside him.

“Do you ever get lonely, Snufkin?”

He answered without an inkling of hesitation, “Of course I do.”

“What do you do when you get lonely, then? I know you like to be alone.”

Snufkin huffed out a short laugh. Moomin took a glimpse of him then, face illuminated by the fire in front of them. With the dark blue shadows of the night, Moomin decided, his friend looked like an old painting.

“I do like to be alone. I don’t actively seek people out, if that’s what you’re saying. I like to learn, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I like it a lot. Sometimes, when I feel alone, I try to fill my head with things I’ve never heard or tidbits I’ve never known before. That’s why I’m so…” He grinned sheepishly. “…knowledgeable, I suppose.”

“What kinds of things do you learn?” Moomin continued to look at him with great interest, drawing another laugh from Snufkin.

“Oh, lots of things. Things about plants, and animals, and the weather and the sky. Lots of regional history and myths and legends. New words, and new songs, and new languages. Little things that are easily forgotten, but they take up space in my brain for the time being, and it distracts me from however lonely I’m feeling. It’s hard to get you out of my head sometimes.”

Silence once again occupied the space between them. Snufkin had closed his eyes, and his posture relaxed a little. Moomin was still watching the way the light danced on his face whenever the wind blew. His hair looked very soft.

“Wait… songs?” Moomin questioned, puzzled. “More people play the harmonica, like you? You don’t play many new songs.”

“Not many of them, Moomin. I can’t sing or play other instruments as well as I can the harmonica, so I can’t share them. It would be nice to have you hear some of them, though. Some of them are very beautiful. I know you’d like them.”

“Well, I’ve never heard you sing before, and I doubt you could be as bad as Little My or I.”

Snufkin snickered. “She is pretty bad, isn’t she?”

The two shared a moment of laughter. Moomin felt proud of himself for making Snufkin laugh so freely. It wasn’t a sound he shared with many people.

“What kinds of songs have you heard?” Moomin crawled closer to the vagabond, absorbed in the prospect of him sharing a new melody.

“Spoken ones?” Moomin nodded, and he continued. “Quite a bit. Lots of songs about the wintertime. Some about snow, and about travelling. A few about the ocean. One or two about the different animals I’ve seen.”

“Can you sing one for me?”

“Sing?” Snufkin looked at the troll, eyes wide in surprise. When he nodded eagerly, Snufkin looked away again, tugging the brim of his hat over his eyes. Moomin could see a light flush on his cheeks. “Well…”

“Oh, come on, Snufkin!” Moomin implored, about ready to burst with excitement. “How else will I ever hear one? I can’t travel with you.”

Guilt flashed across Snufkin’s face before he let go of his hat. He was, technically, the reason Moomin couldn’t travel with him; Moominpappa and Moominmamma had allowed him to ask, but the solitary nature of the vagrant had made him decline. “…I suppose I can. I only really remember one about the snow. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you, I don’t sing very often. It’s not as good as my harmonica playing.”

Moomin maneuvered himself so that he lay on his stomach, chin propped up by his paws, facing Snufkin. He kicked his feet anxiously, staring at his friend, silently urging him to continue. Snufkin sighed and cleared his throat before moving his gaze to the fire again. He closed his eyes when he began to sing.

“ _The branches have traded their leaves for white sleeves_ …” He paused before continuing. “ _All warm-blooded creatures… make ghosts as they breathe._ ”

Moomin gaped at Snufkin as he sang. This, he thought, is just as good as listening to him play the harmonica. Maybe even better. The softness of his voice barely rivaled the pops of the fire.

“ _Scarves are wrapped tightly, like gifts under trees. Christmas lights tangle in knots annually.”_

The vagrant looked at Moomin from the corner of his eye. The troll was obviously absorbed and showed no signs of satisfaction, so he continued.

“ _Our families huddle closely, betting warmth against the cold. But our bruises seem to surface like mud beneath the snow. So, we sing carols softly, as sweet as we know. A prayer that our burdens will lift as we go…”_

Moomin kept his stare fixed on Snufkin’s face. His eyes glistened with an unfamiliar expression, perhaps dolorous or plaintive. Orange flickers danced on his freckled skin. He was much more beautiful than some silly old painting, and this was a lot more interesting than when he played the harmonica.

“ _Like young love still waiting under mistletoe, we’ll welcome December with tireless hope.”_ He took a deep breath before carrying on. “ _Let the bells keep on ringing, making angels in the snow. May the melody disarm us… as the cracks begin to show._ ” His voice wavered a bit. “ _Like the petals in our pockets, may we remember who we are, unconditionally cared for by those who share our broken hearts.”_

The fire seemed quieter now as Snufkin became reticent again. Moomin hardly realized that the singing had stopped, for he was occupied by nothing else but the face of his friend. His eyes glittered like a night sky full of unrelenting stars. His hair still looked very soft, like the fur or feathers of a small creature.

“Well, there you have it.” Moomin made a noise of confusion, pulled from his trance. “It’s the most I remember of any song.” Snufkin rested his cheek on his forearms, crossed over his knees, and smiled timidly at his friend.

“I thought it was wonderful,” Moomin attested.

Snufkin scoffed. “You’re only saying that because you’re my friend, that’s all.”

“I’m serious!”

The wanderer didn’t answer, instead moving to stand after a few moments of silence. Moomin suddenly became aware of everything around him-the wind disturbing the leaves of the trees, the call of a faraway bird, the relative dimness of their fire. He shivered. It had started to snow.

Snufkin offered a hand to the troll, helping him to stand beside him. “Come on, let’s get you home.” Moomin nodded wordlessly. There was still a faint blush on the wayfarer’s cheeks.

As the pair began their return to Moominhouse, the snow snuffed out the fire behind them.  


End file.
